Rystani Warrior 02 - The Dare (27 page)

“Tell me how you feel,” he demanded.

“The sting has faded, leaving … a tingling … ache,” she admitted more reluctantly than she would have liked.

“You want me more than you did before?”

“It’s strange, but it is so,” she admitted, hoping he was done with this particular form of foreplay. Especially since it excited her and made waiting to see what he would do next all the more a sweet torture.

“You have much to learn about desire.”

She thought then that he might enter her body, but he stood behind her and again stoked her breasts through the material until she thought she would go mad with the wanting. The next time he told her to take off her clothes, she wouldn’t be teasing him. Already she deeply regretted that his hands fondled her through the cloth when she so badly wanted them directly on her flesh.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, but she tried to hold still, especially since she now knew the consequences of disobedience. But he’d stacked the probabilities in his favor, and when she once again lost her battle to hold still, her bared bottom felt oh-so vulnerable. Now that she knew what was coming, waiting for the sting was so much more intense.

This time, his first swat was sharper, the heat causing her breath to come in rasps. He spanked her twice. Paused. But she sensed he was not done. The heat between her thighs, the ache for his touch deep in her
synthari
left her wild to gyrate her hips.

“Spread your feet. Arch your back. Tip your bottom up.”

She did. When he tenderly stroked her nether lips, she released a soft moan.

“You like this?”

“Yes.”

“You’re slick and ready for me.”

“Yes.”

“But the sting is adding to your desire, yes?”

“I desire you enough.”

She received two more sharp slaps for her response. “Oh … oh … oh.” Soft whimpers of need told him more than she wanted to reveal, that she was enjoying his attentions, all of them. The sharp bite from his palm and the heat of his caresses intertwined, creating increasingly higher waves of wild lust, each rolling sequence sweeping her farther into a tide of desire.

Arching her back, tipping up her butt seemed wicked. Decadent.

He delved between her legs, delicious friction combining with the burn, escalating her need. Her legs trembled. Her hands itched to run along his flesh to encourage him. But she was supposed to hold still.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he told her.

“Huh?” She couldn’t think, could barely concentrate on his words. All the blood had gone to her
synthari
. Her mind was spinning at the fiery sensations.

“The slaps make you hot, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

Slap. Slap. Slap. She gasped at the heat, almost cried out for him to cease. Certain her bottom must be cherry red, certain she was about to orgasm from the rising temperature alone, she fought to free her hands. But she was bound tight.

She realized that something in him snapped. Always before he had been in total control of his passions. Before he’d been careful. But now, he was no longer holding back. Because he couldn’t. He wanted her too much to be careful. Wanted her too much to give her less than his full lust. Knowing he couldn’t hold back heated her until she was as tingly and warm inside as she was outside. He again fondled her, his fingers finding the center of her
synthari
. The slaps, the heat, the friction all combined to make her frantic for release.

She could not hold still. She was about to burst with the pleasure.

But he stopped.

“What are you doing?” She wailed, and she cared not that she was begging.

He placed his hands on her waist, turned her around to face him, tilted up her chin. “I’m doing exactly what I wish.”

Her stomach dropped to her toes. She’d never seen this side of him before. She’d always wanted to … but now she didn’t know if she was … if she could … Stars. She couldn’t think when she was burning up with the wanting of him.

“Ah, now you begin to understand what it is to take a Rystani warrior to your bed.”

“Bed. I’d be happy to take you to bed. This is—”

“What I want. What I want from you.” He jerked her clothing down, let it pool at her feet. With the air caressing her breasts, her already pebbled nipples tightened. He eyed her with predatory satisfaction. “Do you want my touch on your breasts?”

“Yes.” Her answer was automatic. But when it finally dawned on her through her spinning thoughts that he meant to tease her breasts until she could no longer bear it, she realized that it would be rational for her yes to turn to no. But her body craved the full measure of his passion. Since resistance wasn’t even a remote possibility, she murmured, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Her breasts seemed to swell under his touch, and the heat he’d kindled between her thighs, plus the fire on her red-hot bottom, had her twisting and squirming. “Please, Zical, I must … you must … please.”

She no longer knew what she said. She couldn’t think. Only feel. Thunderous desire ripped through her, holding her hostage.

Yet, he still had not removed his sarong.

She could only stand there and wait on him to do as he pleased. Even knowing he would not heed her pleas to plunge into her, she hadn’t been able to refrain from asking. Words would not hurry him. Every time she’d tried to wriggle against him, he’d turned up the heat. He’d left her no options.

Although she desperately craved release, she reveled in his taking whatever he desired. Submitting empowered her in a manner she didn’t understand and freed her to accept the pleasure in a way that made her feel more alive, more on edge than she’d thought possible. There was no place in the galaxy she’d rather be at the moment than standing naked before him, waiting on his next caress.

He led her to the bed. Dazed with desire, she watched him pile one pillow atop another in the middle of the mattress, confused what he would ask next. She didn’t have long to wait.

He patted a spot before the pillows, his demand almost as sexy as his kisses. “You will kneel.”

She scooted onto the bed and kneeled. When he placed a hand on the flat of her back and guided her hips over the top of the piled pillows, she finally understood. With her bottom tipped upward, her hands tied behind her back, he had total access to her
synthari
. But apparently, he wanted even more.

“Part your legs.”

She struggled to do as he asked.

“Wider.”

She could not see him, but he could see all of her. Then he tied her ankles to keep her spread open for him. She would have been happy to accommodate his wishes, but he didn’t allow her a choice.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

Anticipation stretched her taut. She couldn’t see him. Had no idea where he would touch her. Or if his touch would bring more wonderful caresses or the slap of his palm and fiery heat. Yet she liked not knowing. Her synthari had never ached so much. At the tightness gathering in her belly, she suspected that her body could not accept much more stimulation before she spasmed with pleasure. “What do you want from me?”

She heard him moving to the bath, leaving her, and she fought to hold back a sob. Surely he wasn’t abandoning her? Surely he meant to continue?

An eternity passed while she was strung taut and clung to the notion that he was furnishing her with exactly what she’d wanted. He’d given her body a few minutes to cool down, adjust. She gritted her teeth, realizing he was an absolute master at keeping her on a thin edge.

With his return, his weight depressed the mattress and the bindings on her ankles tugged her open wider. With absolutely no warning, his mouth closed over her
synthari
.

She screamed.

Stars. If not for her bonds, she would have jerked at the sudden heat of his wet tongue rasping over her most tender flesh. But she could not move. Could only remain pliant and appreciative. Needy.

He must be on his back. That was her last coherent thought as his hands clasped her buttocks and held her tightly against his mouth—as if she could have gone anywhere.

Between her tied hands and ankles, she couldn’t so much as wriggle. Not that she wanted to. His bewitching mouth, his playful lips, and his roving tongue would have had her hips bucking. Yet, his hands on her tender bottom held her absolutely at his mercy—and he had none.

Panting, frantic for release, she could do nothing but accept the pounding of her heart, the crackle of sizzling electricity that caused sweet purrs of encouragement from her throat. Expertly, he employed his clever tongue, and when she was once again about to explode, when one more caress would have given her release, he stopped.

She wanted to curse him in every language she knew as frustration overwhelmed her, but her breath was too ragged. Her throat too raw for coherence. “I … can’t … take … much more.”

“You will take as much as I choose to give.”

His words arrowed straight to her heart, and she denied what her body wanted so badly, instead submitting, accepting his demands—even as she found it incredibly hard, undeniably sexy. “Yes.”

Suddenly, his hands were massaging her bottom with some kind of oil that felt cool at first but then quickly warmed her skin. “Ummm. That feels … ah.” The oil trickled between her cheeks and his fingers followed, gently exploring and opening her. She ordered her quivering muscles to relax, but that was impossible. The oil was so slippery and his fingers were everywhere, under her, over her, inside her. Moving in and out in a steady rhythm.

Just one touch of his hand on her nerve center would have given her release. But that was the one place he didn’t stroke and tease. Waiting for him to decide what to touch, where to touch, how much to touch caused her stomach to tense. Her nipples were so tight.

“Tell me you want more,” he demanded.

“More,” she agreed.

He spanked her bottom with one hand while he continued to play with every exposed part of her with purring softness, coaxing hardness. The stinging slaps made her flesh smolder, his caresses on her delicate
synthari
altered from tender to decadent and throbbingly naughty.

“Again?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said,knowing that if she’d had freedom to move, her bottom would have risen up halfway to meet the spankings, even as her hips wanted to buck to keep his fingers inside.

His alluring fingers methodically entered and withdrew and with perfect timing, he spanked the curves of her upturned cheeks until her entire body throbbed with expectation. “Oh, yes. Yes. Yes.”

The heat. His fingers. Pain and pleasure rolled into one until she couldn’t tell where one started and the other left off. Her head spun. Her fingers clenched. Her toes curled into the mattress.

He entered her with his
tavis
. She had no idea when he’d removed his sarong.

Finally.

Finally, he was inside her, filling her with torrid pressure. His hands came around and slid oil over her breasts and she cried out from the raw pleasure. She spasmed, the explosion starting deep in her center and radiating outward with electric force. He kept moving, thrusting—she didn’t so much shatter as rocket. The burn kept escalating, taking her higher, farther in a series of eruptions that went on … and on … and on.

Still he didn’t stop. His fingers found where she was most sensitive and he applied steadily increasing pressure. Each gushing spasm triggered another, each more violent, each topping the last. She totally lost herself. Her body short-circuited.

She blacked out.